night of the hunter | klaus & clara
“О, да? Винт вы тоже, дружище!” Clara shouted, her legs moving as quickly as they possibly could. And when one took in consideration how injured and weakened she currently was, that was faster than most. But only until she found herself halfway down the Romanov driveway, because then she allowed her injuries to take precedent. Sagging visibly as her steps slowed, Clara found her eyelids fluttering shut; but only for a moment. Just as the blonde reached the end of the driveway, she reached within the pocket of her jacket and retrieved her phone. As soon as she did so, the screen lit up—and Clara took in the numerous notifications, each and every one of which had been from the same person. Klaus.
He was mad, that much was clear to Clara from the six text messages he had sent to her. But when she compared the number of texts to phone calls, she found it paled— not ten or twenty phone calls from Klaus, no. Instead, Clara saw that he had phoned her twenty-two times, and had left her four voice mails. Letting out what could only be dubbed as a tired sigh, Clara lifted the phone to her ear and listened. With each message, Klaus grew not only more worried, but also more angry. She had promised him before flying to Russia that she would check in at least every two hours, and it had been nearly eight since she had last spoken to her significant other. While for Clara the time had sped by, she knew that each moment had likely passed slowly and painfully for Klaus. And so she couldn’t find it within herself—injured or not—to be angry with him. But when she pulled her phone away from her ear and felt the displacement of air surround her, she felt a surge of something—anger, maybe?—fill her chest.
It could have been any vampire, sure. Maybe even Miranda, having returned after her dramatic exit from the Romanov house just minutes earlier. But when Clara’s eyes swept over the darkened street that ran past Aleksander’s home, she recognized the tall, thin figure as if he was forever pressed into her memory. And he was. Niklaus Mikaelson, to many, was an abomination. A murderer. A sociopath. The kind of man who ruined peoples lives for the sheer pleasure of it, who stole candy from babies and walked away with a grin—but not to Clara. Maybe once upon a time that was who he had been to her, the monster who had taken away her older brother Paul, and so many other people she had cared for. But Paul’s death, and Mystic Falls, was from another life—one Clara tried desperately not to think of. In Clara’s new life, Klaus was her boyfriend, the love of her life… and the father of her unborn child. The latter, however, he did not know.
Taking several rapid steps—or limps, rather—towards Nik, Clara’s eyes narrowed into slits. While everything within Clara’s chest wished to only lean up onto her tiptoes and press their lips together in a heated kiss, she refrained; she was angry, and not only at Klaus. Actually, he was probably the least of her anger in those moments—but Clara was slowly returning to her former self. And the old Clara would often take out her anger on whoever was closest. And in this case, that was Klaus. “What are you doing here?” Clara demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. She sounded angry, of course, but there was also something different about her voice… weaker, less filled with the normal Clara-level annoyance that was often present in moments like these. And that was odd. The cool night air whipped around them, sending Clara’s blonde hair into her vision with such strength she was forced to raise a hand and brush it aside. Looking up at Klaus expectantly, she tilted her head to the side and met his beautifully blue-green eyes. Now she really wanted to kiss him… but she managed to refrain, instead focusing on the burning sensation in her shoulder. There would now forever be the scar of an R there, a constant reminder of the torture she had endured tonight, and of the best friend she had lost five years ago. These thoughts brought tears stinging into Clara’s eyes, and she abruptly broke eye contact with Klaus, instead turning her gaze on the frozen snow that surrounded her boots.
Seeing the petite blonde running out through the front door had Klaus' shoulders slumping, relief filling every part of him. Within seconds he was walking towards her, his steps quick, wanting nothing more than to have her in arms. Just as quickly as he had started walking towards her, Klaus stopped, his body going rigid. The smell of blood was strong, and he knew it came from Clara. He would know the smell of her blood anywhere, and as she questioned him all he found himself doing was glaring at the front door of the Romanov household. Wanting to get on Aleksander's good side was no longer something he wanted to do. Ripping into the hunters throat, on the other hand, was becoming more appealing by the second.
"I'm here to help, sweetheart." He muttered, his eyes finally leaving the door. Clara came first. He would deal with those that hurt her when she was taken care of. Not saying another word, Klaus bent down, his arm going under Clara's legs as he lifted her, ignoring the gaping wound on the front of her leg. He was livid, and there was no telling what he would do if he didn't get out of there now.
Running until he reached a secluded area in the woods, Klaus leaned forward, placing Clara against the tree as he got down on his knees in front of her. Staring at her in silence, he couldn't help but be angry. The second she realized there was trouble, he should've known. The second she'd gotten to the house, he should've known. Instead, he had to wait hours before running into someone he thought was out of their lives for good before hearing that Clara needed help. Opening his mouth, he quickly shut it again, seeing the fire in Clara's eyes-- a fire he hadn't seen in a long time. With that, a part of him was intrigued, wondering if his little spitfire was just waiting to come out.
"You're going to tell me who did this to you," he stated, motioning to the wound on her thigh. "So I can slaughter them and those they care for." Imagining it now, Klaus gave Clara a small smirk, but that was quickly erased when he noticed the way she flinched away from the tree behind her. Clenching his jaw, he leaned forward as he gently brought her forward, seeing the blood on the back of her shirt. The amount of blood that was covering her was enough to make any vampire dizzy with want. At times even Klaus found himself holding his breath, but he wasn't sure if it was a somewhat therapeutic technique to keep him from going on a killing spree. Bringing his thoughts back to Clara, he didn't waste time in tearing at the back of her shirt before he froze.
On the back of Clara's shoulder, covered in her own blood was something Klaus would never forget."Unfortunately for the Romanov's, this wound won't mean much when there aren't any of them left." As far as torture goes, branding someone like this was smart. Being a constant reminder to said person, but seeing it on Clara? There was no stopping Klaus now. Not wasting anytime, Klaus bit into his wrist, holding in front of Clara's face. He had learned from experience that force-feeding blood was frowned upon by most, and with Clara he would never take her choice away from her. "Feed, so I can go finish them."
